plays out in the designated space for waiting
where we, the diehard citizens (Mister Kidney,
Madam Lung, etcetera) respire in counterpoint
or unison, depending on our varying rates of dis
-combobulation. Rasputin ra-ras round the lego
on the lego mat. He’s three. Already very keen
on crushing small men underfoot. You have to be
tough In this life. You need grit, muscle, ideally
topdown private cover for your gums. There is
literally no point whatsoever (we know this now)
in acquiring a running-buddy who leaves you
with long-term damage to your femur. And a limp.
Wouldn’t it be nice if just for once, this time, they
ripped up the form? Or if, handing it over,
they told you — Draw a little picture. Or leave it blank.
You choose. Data’s so reductive, don’t you think?
Claudine Toutoungi’s most recent collection is “Emotional Support Horse” (Carcanet, 2024)
[See also: The NS Poem: Her Birth]
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This article appears in the 12 Mar 2025 issue of the New Statesman, Why Britain isn’t working